Forgive Yourself
by Zighana
Summary: On the night of his supposed suicide attempt, Dallas is halted by supernatural forces that put him in the crossroads. AU, Ghost!Dally, mild violence, ghosts, and Dallas's filthy mouth. 3-part fic
1. Chapter 1

**Forgive Yourself**

 _On the night of Johnny's death, Dallas decides to meet him in the afterlife by a suicide attempt. A supernatural intervention stops him with a grim warning._

Dallas stands in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror for the fifteenth time, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

Johnny Cade is dead. Dead from saving some ungrateful kids when he should've been selfish and saved himself. Dead because of him.

If he hadn't let them run away, if he hadn't given them done all he could to save him, he'd still be alive.

"Goddammit, Johnny. Goddammit!" Dallas smacks himself in the head, forcing the tears to not fall. He can't cry and he won't; he hasn't cried since he was ten years old. He pulls out the gun from his jacket pocket, the object feeling heavy in his hands.

He has nothing left to live for; the one friend he truly cared about and loved is dead. His innocence, his light, his vitality, all gone; Johnny took it with him to the grave.

Right now, Dallas wants to meet him again.

He puts the barrel to his head, taking deep breaths. It could be so easy, right now; pull the trigger and stop himself from thinking anymore, from hurting anymore. He cocks it, finger on the trigger, and pulls.

 _-click-_

He remembers: ain't nothing in it.

Maybe he should hang himself…no…it would be too difficult; he can't tie a knot and he'll be damned if he shits on himself while dead. Drowning? No…he's scared of drowning, in a twisted form of irony. He looks at the gun and an idea comes to mind.

He'll let the cops kill him.

 _Don't even think about it._

Dallas jolts. An eerie chill slithers down his spine and he lurches forward.

What the hell is that?

 _Drop the fucking gun, Dallas._

He hears a voice hiss in his ear. The chill gets stronger, sinking through his body and making him shiver. His teeth chatter, his breath visible. The temperature drops significantly: the mirrors fog up and a thin sheet of ice travels up them. Words seem to scratch themselves on the mirrors in thin, unnerving, handwriting. Dallas backs into a wall, eyes wide as saucers as he reads what it says.

 **I'M WATCHING YOU.**

"W-What the h-h-hell is going on?"

For the first time in years, Dallas Winston is scared. The mirror writes again.

 **THIS IS YOUR WARNING.**

"Warning for what?"

The mirror doesn't answer.

The atmosphere warms up, the messages on the wall vanish, and Dallas could feel himself breathe again. He drops to the floor, trying to think about what had just taken place. There needs to be a logical explanation; maybe he was going crazy and his mind is playing tricks…

He pockets his jacket to feel for his gun, but finds nothing. Panicked, he searches his pockets again and still nothing. After checking the entire bathroom, the gun is nowhere to be found.

Dallas walks out of the bathroom, shaken and confused. A kindly store clerk looks over at him.

"Sir? Sir, are you okay?"

Dallas looks at the lady, manic and frazzled.

"I don't know," he confesses, "I just don't know."


	2. Chapter 2: Crossroads

Dallas walked home that night, trying to rationalize the events that had taken place. Mirrors wrote on themselves, temperature dropped at an eerie low, and his gun seemed to have vanished in thin air. There's no amount of logic, alcohol, and denial that is going to explain away the events that occurred.

Buck's has been crowded again; must be another party. He really isn't in the mood to talk to people, but he needed sleep and his room was the best place to get it. He enters the home and is greeted by silence.

Everyone from his gang and the Shephard's are looking at him, waiting.

"Hey, man," Buck greets, "You alright?"

"Yeah." Dallas answers, "rough night. I'm gonna go crash in my room." He walks upstairs to his room, ignoring the whispers and soft chatter of his friends. He opens his door, shoos a couple out from his room, and flops down on his bed.

Maybe this is a dream Dallas will wake out of, maybe right now he's at the hospital waiting on Johnny to wake up and laugh with him again, maybe…

Something is rapping against his window pane. He ignores it; the tree has a habit of scratching against the window with its branches. He closes his eyes, the calm lull of sleep enticing him, and he drifts off.

He dreams about riding in the car with Johnny and riding all over the country to see the sights, the food, the girls. They were about to cross into California when he feels a familiar chill slither down his spine.

 _Wake up._

"No," he moans, "go away."

 _Wake up, Dallas. Now._

His blankets are ripped from him. Before he could respond, hands grab his feet and yank him to the floor. He yelps, the shock and the pain of the bedpost hitting his head rendering him stricken.

"What the fuck is happening? Who are you? Buck? Is that you? It ain't funny kicking a man while he's down! I had a bad fucking day and I'm _looking_ for a reason to pound someone!" Dallas yells into the darkness. Nothing.

A dark laugh slices through the darkness like a knife.

"Alright, show yourself like a man so I can deck you!"

Light bulbs crackle and spark to life without any movement. Dallas is bathed in a blue light, and what he sees makes him shiver.

It's a man, bloodied, gaunt, and bullet-ridden, wearing clothes that look just like Dallas's and his features look older. After closer inspection, Dallas notices looking at him was like looking in the mirror.

"Who are you!?" Dallas cries out. The man laughs even more.

"Ain't it obvious?" he chuckles.

"I'm you."

Everything in Dallas's world goes black.

* * *

He comes to, jolted awake by the crisp air and the strong smell of nature and candles. He opens his eyes and sees a street, adorned with candles, balloons, and cards in one specific spot. Dallas notices Ponyboy, Darry, Steve, Two-Bit, and Sodapop standing near the vigil, dressed in all black.

"What is this?" he whispers.

"The second anniversary of your death."

"What?"

He whips his head around and sees the older version of himself standing against a lamp-post, watching the friends as they cry and mourn.

"We died here. The night of Johnny's death, you took your unloaded gun, robbed a store, got chased by the cops and they gunned you down because you," he pointed at Dallas, "decided to point your unloaded pistol at them."

"This is bullshit. I'm walking over to them and telling them what's going on."

"Go ahead." He chortles, "I really wanna see you try."

Dallas scowls and walks over to them.

"Guys," he begins, "It's me. Dally. Can any of you tell me what the hell's going on?"

They ignore him.

"Hello?" he waves his hand in Darry's face.

"Hey, I'm fucking talking to you!" he slams his hand down on Darry's shoulder, only to find it going through him.

"What the…"

"They can't see us, touch us, or hear us." That sardonic voice explains.

"We're dead. The living usually doesn't interact with the dead."

"We're not dead…I'm not dead!"

"Yet. You were going to die tonight, two years from this moment." He points to that vigil.

"We died in that spot. If you look closely, you could still see our blood mixing with the concrete. It was so much blood, man."

"Then why are we here?"

"To stop this from happening. To tell you the consequences of our actions." He looks to his younger self.

"When we died, I was stuck. We died before our time; _I_ was stuck in limbo, haunting this world and that same spot. My obsession, _our_ obsession, with Johnny is what kept me here, and what will keep Johnny here, for eternity. We died before we could let go of our guilt over Johnny's death. This will be our fate: stuck in that same spot, watching our friends get older, have lives, and eventually leave us behind."

He snaps his fingers. The vigil becomes older, less adorned with gifts and trinkets. They see Ponyboy, now an old man, being wheeled to that spot with what appears to be his grandchildren. His shaky fingers grip a bouquet of flowers; the granddaughter gingerly takes them out if his hand and places it at the foot of the vigil. They watch their grandfather break down and cry.

"Ponyboy was the only one who kept visiting, until he stopped. He died three days after, and no one came to visit us anymore. We killed him, Dallas. Our death has been haunting this man, stripping him of his vitality and plaguing him with guilt. He took that guilt all the way to his grave and now, he will never rest. His spirit will never cross over."

Dallas makes his way to the broken old man, trying to comfort him.

"Hey," he whispers, his voice cracking. He hates seeing people cry.

"Imagine being here and watching them cry over you, and you can do nothing to comfort them, to be the reason they can never die in peace. We're stuck here, Dallas. We're the anchor that stops people from moving on and passing over. This needs to end."

"Is this why you brought me here? To guilt trip me about my grief over Johnny?" Dallas bites back.

"I'm stopping us by forcing you to forgive yourself. Johnny's death wasn't your fault. You had no control over what happened to him, what he chose. He died a martyr, a hero. They have a statue and a park named after him in his honor. He's a hero, Dallas. A fucking hero." He points to a newspaper anchored by a candle that's blowing in the breeze. There, in bold letters, are the words: **JOHNNY CADE, THE BOY WHO SAVED MY LIFE.** A photo of Johnny Cade's face next to a statue of himself, striking a valiant pose, cased in solid bronze.

"One of the kids went on to be the mayor of this town and used his power to make sure Johnny didn't die in vain."

"Wow," Dallas whispers, pride welling up.

"Dallas,"

A familiar voice snaps him out of his thoughts. There stands Johnny, sitting on the curb next to the older and grim version of himself.

"Johnny!" Dallas embraces his friend.

"I thought you were gone forever!"

"Dallas, I'm dead. I've been dead for over fifty years. You have to let me go, Dallas."

Dallas pulls away.

"What are you talking about?"

"When you killed yourself and started haunting this spot, you unintentionally stopped me from crossing over to eternal peace. Your obsession anchored me here and I'm forced to walk among the place I died, waiting for you to forgive yourself." Johnny explains, looking at the ground.

"What happened wasn't your fault, and honestly, it's cool that we can watch the world change around us. I mean, how often do you get to see the millennia, the next generation with all of their gadgets, and a black president?"

"A _black_ president!?"

"… _anyway_ ," Johnny looks at him, "you have to move on and stop holding yourself accountable for my death. You're stopping me from finally having rest and peace. And our deaths stop Ponyboy from fully living his life. His guilt has stopped him from moving on and it added to his deteriorating health. He died over his guilt. And I can't have that over my conscience.

"Don't kill yourself. Throw that gun away if you have to and let it all out. Cry, scream, fight someone if you have to. Talk to someone, get help, and whatever you do, please, forgive yourself and move on. Or this," he points to the older version of himself, "Will be your fate."

"We were allowed to alter time to visit you and stop you from doing what you've been planning on doing tonight. We're not just a warning, we're an omen of what's to come if you don't listen to us." The older version adds.

"If you don't change, not only will you be stuck here for eternity, but your obsession will eat at you until you're a hollow shell of what you used to be, haunting your site and becoming a danger to yourself and the living." Johnny's voice darkens.

"You will be closed off, in your own nothingness, until the end of time."

Darkness envelops them.

"HELP ME! SOMEONE GET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

The loud thrashing of chains makes Dallas turn.

He sees himself, older, bloodied and heavily scared, with a beard and his once lustrous locks dull and clinging to his face. He's chained to the floor, body thrashing and bucking against the restraints.

"I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry! Someone, _please_ , _KILL ME_!" He shouts into oblivion, tears running down his face.

"No," Dallas's eyes widen.

"This will be you if you don't let go." Johnny says.

The world around them vanishes and Dallas is back at his vigil.

"We'll be here until you change your ways and alter your timeline. This will be your last warning. Forgive yourself." The older version adds.

The two vanish.

* * *

Dallas opens his eyes and finds himself back in his bed, drenched in sweat. Was it all a dream? Was all it real? He shakes his head. He gets up from the bed, wiping the sweat from his face and heading downstairs.

"Dal, you alright, man?"

Buck looks him over with a worried expression. The party had been over two hours ago, only the two remained. Buck slides over a glass of water to him.

"Thanks, man." Dallas knocks back the water like it's a shot.

"Look, I heard about Johnny," Dallas steels himself, "just know, if you need someone to talk to, I'm all ears."

He wants to tell Buck to go fuck himself. Before he could fix his mouth to say those two words, the clink of chains makes him freeze.

 _Forgive yourself._

 _Let me go, Dallas._

 _Talk to someone._

"Matter of fact," the words leave his mouth, "I wouldn't mind talking to you about it."


End file.
